Innocence
by Princess Alyra
Summary: A collection of one-shots about the childhoods of various Merlin characters. / Two - Arthur and Morgana break all the rules when they duel in the courtyard.
1. Of Fathers and Friends

I had the idea a while ago for a collection of one-shots, all involving the childhoods of Merlin characters. I've already got a few written, they just need to be typed - in other words, posting this hasn't caused me to spend loads of time away from my actual WIPs. :P Speaking of which... _Fore and Hindsight _5, coming up soon!

I'll change the character/genre information every time I post a new chapter, so you'll have some idea from the outside whether it's your kind of thing. Most of these will be fairly short. Enjoy!

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**Of Fathers and Friends**

The village of Ealdor was a small one, but in many ways that was good. If you grew up there, or even visited for a fair amount of time, you had most likely run into everyone at least once.

Another advantage was that for chores such as fetching water from the river on one side of the village, it didn't matter if you lived all the way on the opposite side - it still wasn't that far to walk. For this, Merlin was thankful.

His mother, Hunith, had sent him with a bucket to collect their weekly water supply. It had rained heavily the night before, so the river ought to have been flowing with fresh water. The only thing Merlin disliked about this was the state of the ground. It rolled and sloshed and splashed beneath his feet with every step. Hunith had scolded him just yesterday for dirtying his clothes.

He waded carefully through the village, saying hello to the familiar faces he passed. A kind old woman named Marian handed him an apple from her tree to eat on the way. He took it gladly and was about to take a bite when, as he passed an old abandoned shack, he heard a sob.

Merlin stopped with the apple halfway to his mouth and slowly lowered his hand, lips still parted. He stepped cautiously closer to the disheveled building and the sobs grew louder.

There was no handle on the door, only a gaping hole where it used to be. Merlin gripped at the edge of the hole and pulled. The door made a high-pitched screech of protest; the top hinge was broken, and the bottom one looked ready to collapse as well. He hurried inside, lest it choose to give away while he stood in its line of fire.

No one was there. Puzzled, Merlin continued to follow the sound until he came to another door on the opposite wall. The sobbing and sniffling was definitely increasing in volume.

This time when he pushed open the door, he found what he was looking for on the other side. A boy his age was sitting with his back against the shack. His eyes were red and puffy, and the stringy state of his mousy brown hair made Merlin think he had been there all night, even during the rain. Tears flowed freely down his dirty cheeks.

Merlin slid down next to him in the mud. He knew his mother would yell at him later for ruining his trousers again, but he tried not to think about that.

"Hey," he said kindly, trying to get the boy to look at him, "what's wrong?"

The boy gulped and, after a few failed attempts, choked out, "Wh-who are you?"

"My name's Merlin," Merlin replied, holding out his hand. The other boy didn't take it; Merlin wasn't sure if it was because he couldn't see it through the tears, or because he just couldn't bring up the energy.

"I'm Will," the boy sniffed after a while. "My... my f-father... the king sent him into battle... h-he didn't even know h-how to fight..."

It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together, and Merlin was pretty bright for his eight years. "I'm sorry," he told Will sincerely, not quite knowing what else to say. "I don't have a father, either. I don't even know who he was."

Will absorbed this thought, then wiped his eyes with an already damp sleeve. "My father told me boy aren't s'posed to cry. He said we have to be strong for the girls."

"That's not what I was taught. I was raised by my mother, and she says that everyone cries. It's what makes us human."

Will shook his head stubbornly, but he didn't try to cover a renewed round of sobs. Tentatively, Merlin put an arm around Will's shoulders. "You must be hungry. Want my apple?"

He offered it to the other boy, who nodded and took it. It was a small gesture, but Merlin hoped it helped. "Listen, I've got to finish my chore. I'm supposed to be getting water." He motioned toward the bucket he had abandoned at his side. It was coated in mud, but that was okay; he could wash it off in the river. "Do you want to come with me?"

Will shrugged and got to his feet. Merlin followed suit, inspecting the damage done to his trousers. The entire back side was wet, and some mud had splattered onto the front. At least this pair had been brown to begin with.

He led Will - who seemed too distraught to use any sense of direction - to the river, where they cleaned off as best they could and filled the bucket to the brim. A portion of it slipped over the side on the journey back, but not enough for Merlin to care.

They reached Will's house before Merlin's. Will discarded the core, all that remained of the apple Merlin had given him, and bade goodbye.

Merlin continued on the short way to his home, trying to swing the bucket as little as possible to preserve what was left.

He and Will had not talked much, really, but he had enjoyed the company anyway, and he thought it had been good for Will to get his mind off his father's death for a while. Merlin did not have any friends he felt really close to, but he and Will had something they could share that few other understood - the grief of a missing father. Somehow he knew then that he had just begun a new friendship, one of the best he would have in his life.

When he opened the door to his house, Hunith was standing just inside, waiting for him. A dozen excuses for the amount of time he had taken flew to his tongue, but his mother's eyes were trained downward, and it was only then that Merlin remembered his pants.

Hunith let out a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, Merlin..."


	2. I Don't Hit Girls

Thank you to anyone who reviewed, favorited, or alerted! Here's the new one, which is pretty much complete fluff, and I don't_ do _fluff. Yet stories of childhood kind of call for it sometimes, you know? Let me know what you think!

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**I Don't Hit Girls**

Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, liked nothing better than to practice sword fighting. He would make a trip to the courtyard almost every day to pick up one of the practice swords (he was only allowed the use of a real one under careful supervision) and battle with an invisible enemy, using the moves he learned from his weapon's trainer.

Morgana, ward of King Uther and surrogate sister to Arthur, liked nothing better than to watch the prince from her chamber window, longingly wishing to go out and join him.

So, one day, she did.

Arthur was too wholly concentrated on his opponent to notice Morgana at first. He seemed to be fighting an entire army from the way he lunged from side to side, attacking a broad range of empty space that couldn't possibly belong to one single person, imaginary or not. Morgana had to stifle giggle when he started shouting orders like he was leading a real battle. That was when Arthur noticed her.

"Morgana!" Arthur nearly dropped his sword in horror. "What are you doing? You're not supposed to be here, you're a girl!"

That was the attitude of many in Camelot, including, unfortunately, the king himself. Morgana knew better than to express her desires to learn how to fight to the other Ladies - they would chastise her and tell her it was not proper to consider such things. She had hoped Arthur, of all people, would understand.

Yet she hadn't even explained what she wanted to do, and already he was accusing her of stepping outside her station.

What was there to lose? "I want to practice with you," she informed him simply, raising her chin in defiance and placing her hands firmly on her hips.

Arthur snorted. "Yeah, right. Like I'm going to let _you _use a sword. Father would kill me if he found out! Besides, you're not strong enough. All you do all day is brush your hair and giggle whatever else it is girls do."

Morgana drew herself up haughtily. "For your information, Arthur Pendragon, I am as perfectly capable of lifting a _fake _sword as you are, if not more so! And in case you've forgotten, I spend more time with _you _than the other noble girls, anyway."

"You're still a girl," said Arthur, like that simple truth justified his pigheadedness. "I couldn't fight you if I wanted, which I _don't_. I don't hit girls."

"Oh, really?" Morgana said snarkily. She darted an arm out, wrapped a slender, pale hand around the wooden hilt of a practice sword, and brought it slashing down toward Arthur's head.

Instinctively, Arthur swung his own sword upward to parry the blow. The world disappeared around him; all he knew was the swinging and clashing of weapons, the cries of battle, and the rush of adrenaline in his veins. He even managed to forget who he was fighting.

He carried on tirelessly, glad for once to have a real opponent, one who could fight back. His enemy was faceless, just a threat he had to remove at all costs.

Everything was going great. He was dealing blow after blow, blocking everything dealt toward him, and he was on top of the world, enjoying every moment of it, untouchable, until-

In a graceful arc, his sword was torn out of his hand and flew through the air.

Dumbfounded, Arthur gaped open-mouthed at his opponent, only now remembering who it was.

Morgana was smirking.

"Your concern was touching," she remarked airily, "but really, I think it was a tad misplaced."

"I - that was," Arthur spluttered, "_I don't hit girls! _I was going soft on you. I let you win."

"Defensive, aren't we?" Morgana purred. "You didn't seem soft to _me_. In fact, I've been watching you fight for a long time, and I'd say you put more effort into this than ever before. You seemed a bit strained, really."

Arthur scowled, but did not reply.

Morgana quirked another smirking look in his direction. "Perhaps you'd like a chance to redeem yourself," she suggested innocently.

Arthur's pride was quickly winning out on his sense of honor and chivalry. "All right, but this time I'll fight for real. I'm warning you, you've got no chance." He gripped the hilt tighter and swung with all his might. Morgana, fully expecting the blow, blocked it easily.

Within minutes, Arthur was back in losing position. There was no denying that he was trying his utmost to defeat Morgana, but she was quick, and much stronger than he had anticipated, considering her deceptively thin frame.

Just when Morgana made a move to disarm him, the fight was interrupted. However, Arthur would have gladly taken the loss and accompanying wounded ego a thousand times over if it meant he could have avoided the consequences of this, because when Morgana froze mid-strike, it was because she saw Uther striding their way out of the corner of her eye, a furious expression twisting his face grotesquely.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded sharply, coming to an abrupt halt in between them and looking from one to the other. Arthur dropped his gaze to his feet; Morgana met his eyes with fiery determination.

"I wished to practice my sword skills, my lord," Morgana told him, very straightforward and proud, as always. Arthur looked up briefly to gape at her. How could she address the king this way?

Uther was outraged. "And why in God's name would you ever need sword skills? You are a lady in the royal household, there's no possible reason you would ever need to fight."

"I think women should be allowed to fight as well."

Her words were like a winter breeze; they chilled the air as soon as they left her mouth and instigated a frosty silence. Arthur hung his head again. He couldn't see his father leaving this incident unpunished.

"As long as I have breath in my body," Uther ground out stiffly, "women will never be made to fight. Now you will return to the castle at once and forget these silly games."

The king swept away, leaving Arthur and Morgana to interpret the veiled threat for themselves.

"You should probably go back," Arthur said after a while.

"I'm not scared of Uther," Morgana declared boldly. Ten years old, and already she was braver than most of the knights in Camelot, and at least as stubborn as the king himself. Looking at her, Arthur couldn't help but think that she would make a formidable warrior.

However, he knew the code of chivalry, and it would be wrong for a woman, especially one of (though he didn't think of her this way) Lady Morgana's rank.

Determined though he knew she was, Arthur also knew that she could and would never be allowed to fight.

"I know you're not," he said, swinging his sword upward with a fancy flick of his wrist. "Come on; one more round, and then back to your room before my father comes after us again."

Morgana's smile started small, then grew.

"I bet I'll beat you again."


End file.
